


Dawning Warmth

by zeteram



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, The Dawning (Destiny), no justice without cookies for crow, osiris is still grieving but saint is excited for the dawning, post-Immolant, shitposting about current events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeteram/pseuds/zeteram
Summary: The Dawning has almost arrived in the City, and Osiris is cold.
Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 75





	Dawning Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the Season of the Hunt after the lore "Immolant, pt 2" and contains major spoilers for it.

Osiris was cold.

Yes, it was winter in the City, or close enough, and yes, he’d just spent several decades or centuries (depending on whether one was counting time as linear or subjective) in a desert on the planet closest to the Sun, but it was more than that. It was the loss of his Light that brought the chill to his bones. No more Solar pulse running just under his skin to be called forth at need, no bright spark chasing the shadows away from his soul.

No Sagira, always challenging him to do better.

The heat of anger at her loss was a false one, keeping him warm enough to function but providing little beyond that save for a growing sense of disgust at himself for allowing her to be lost, and to avoid an endless spiral of self-loathing even he was aware enough of to recognize, he had agreed to run the Wrathborn operations from the Bazaar near Ikora. Being surrounded by people did stave off the loneliness, even when most of them were strangers who stared at him when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Most, but not all. There was a Hunter waving to him and hurrying over with two plates of something from the ramen stall, and Osiris resigned himself to having company for a bit. He sat at the small table nearby and gestured for the Hunter to join him, getting a plate of hot dumplings placed in front of him for his trouble.

“Morning, Osiris!” Cheerful as ever, the Guardian dipped one of the pan-fried gyoza into the little sauce cup and popped it into his mouth.

“How goes the Hunt?” Osiris said rather than _yes, it is morning_ , because he didn’t have anything _good_ to say about the morning. He pulled down his scarf to take a bite of one of the dumplings placed before him.

“Crow fixed the Lure to charge faster,” the Hunter said between bites. “Still haven’t figured out how to configure it for Cabal, though. I _know_ they’re being affected by it, but--” He shrugged.

“More data will lead to a solution with better frequency than chance,” Osiris reminded him. “Do not neglect to record what does not work. The shape of what fails may reveal the shape of what succeeds.”

“Will do.” He wolfed down another dumpling and then, of all things, smiled at Osiris with--was that shyness? Osiris narrowed his eyes. “Hey, um, Osiris? I know I probably don’t need to remind you, but things have been weird so I wasn’t sure if you were keeping track of time. You know the Dawning is coming up, right?”

“Saint-14 has hardly spoken of anything else,” Osiris muttered and reached down to grab another dumpling, noting with surprise he was almost done with the plate. “He has fond memories of the way he was greeted at the Tower last year.”

The Hunter grinned, relaxing a little. “I’ll still bake him about a million cookies, don’t worry about it. But there’s someone else I was hoping we could help out this year, too. To make him feel welcome, you know?”

“And you are coming to me for assistance?” Osiris asked, the disbelief clear in his voice. He could think of people with less willingness to _spread cheer_ , but not many.

“That’s just it, though,” he said, and ran a hand over the back of his neck. He explained about finding Crow’s keepsakes when searching for Hawkmoon, which was in itself a tale Osiris catalogued for analysis; the Traveler speaking to anyone, whether in dreams or not, was significant. But the Hunter emphasized the part about Crow’s last Dawning, and Osiris _did_ understand how it felt to be exiled from a place you wanted to belong when everyone else was celebrating togetherness, and he knew the Hunter could see his expression soften at it.

“Very well,” he said once the tale was done. “I will make inquiries, as I am stuck here regardless.”

“Thanks,” the Hunter said, sounding relieved. “And don’t worry, I won’t let baking a bunch of cookies get in the way of what needs to be done.” He gathered up the now-empty plates to return to the kiosk and waved.

Osiris lifted a hand in return and got to working on this new problem. At least it was something different to think about.

\---

Eva Levante emerged from Ikora’s reception room, looking pleased with herself and thoughtful. Osiris stepped out of the shadows and gestured for her attention. “Do you have a moment to spare?”

Her eyes got a warm glow to them as she cried out in surprise to see him. “Osiris! It is good to see you here. Are you helping Ikora with the Dawning this year?”

He grimaced, though he still wore his scarf so he doubted she could see. “I have other business to attend to, but it is regarding that. A favor to ask of you.” He said the words reluctantly, because it did pain him to ask anyone for help, even if it was for a festival and not the fight against the Darkness. He preferred to do things himself, but--this wasn’t something he had ever even attempted to be proficient in, if he were being honest with himself. Frivolity, he’d deemed it once, and yet here he was.

“Of course,” she said warmly, coming a little closer. “It must be strange for you to be here in the City again after so much time being gone.” Her eyes dimmed as she realized what she’d said. “But you’ve lost your home. This has been such a difficult year. I am so sorry.”

He shook his head, not because she was wrong or because he didn’t still miss Mercury with a soul-deep ache, but to dismiss it; he didn’t know if she’d heard about his true loss yet, and didn’t care to be the one to bring it up. There were days when he could almost think of Sagira without more than a passing ache, and there were times when her absence struck him so profoundly he could do little more than lay in bed and weep. He had been doing better, lately, but it was no sure thing.

“The City was my home long before I ever trod the Fields of Glass,” he said softly, which had the advantage of being true. “I can see the walls I helped to build here from the Tower, and though it has become magnificent beyond my first visions in the time I was gone, its bones are familiar to me. If it has changed, that is only because Humanity has been able to look beyond the first need we had for shelter and built it to be beautiful. No,” he raised a hand to stop her from saying anything to that, knowing it was mawkishly sentimental. “It is for someone else I am asking your favor.”

“And who might that be?” She looked intrigued now, as well she might. It would help make up for those they had lost to add new faces to the rounds of deliveries, not as replacements but as new additions. Ikora had no doubt already told her of the Exo Stranger and Variks on Europa, a situation which would hold his attention very strongly indeed were it not for his sudden and burning desire for vengeance against the Hive.

“There is a new Guardian,” he said carefully. “He is wary of coming to the City for reasons I am not at liberty to explain now, and he has found himself bound in service to the Spider.” He wasn’t willing to say more aloud, especially not this near to Ikora, though surely she must know. Still, they hadn’t discussed it with one another yet, and so he was still cautious, dancing around the truth in ways that reminded him of the politics of old, as much as he had despised those. But the Crow deserved to be treated as his own person, regardless of what his prior incarnation had done. This could only help in that direction.

“But he has been of great help to both myself and the Guardians of the City in hunting down a new threat in the Reef, and he--saved my life.” He couldn’t help the softening of his voice there, but rather than focusing on why it was important to save the life of someone who had always been able to come back again, he plowed on. “One of his only possessions is a Dawning decoration from last year, which his Ghost gave to him. It would be for the best if he would eventually join us here; making him feel welcome is a large part of that. Being a part of the Dawning festivities would present significant progress in that direction.”

“Of course I will make a cookie recipe for him,” she said with such sincerity it would be sickening in anyone else. People like Eva and Saint, though, they actually _meant_ it--which was why they were full of ‘the Dawning Spirit’. “You must tell me what he likes, and what he is like. But, Osiris--you do not wish for anything for yourself?”

“I will be buried in cookies regardless,” he snapped, crossing his arms to distract the perceptive woman from seeing how much it hurt him to imagine Sagira’s glee at getting his very own cookie recipe. “If I do not spend at least two hours a day doing nothing but eating cookies and drinking tea, I will be once again rendered homeless; the sheer volume will leave no room for me in Saint-14’s house.”

There. The image was ridiculous enough that it brought the pain to a dull throb instead of a crippling stab. He could not, _could not_ , stand it if Guardians gave him cookies in his Ghost’s image. The Infinite Forest Cake hurt enough, reminding him of what he’d lost. Better to have Lavender Ribbons to remind him of what he had gained instead. And if he had let slip that he was staying with Saint, well, he had to sleep somewhere, and it wasn’t as though he were willing to commit to getting his own quarters just yet. There was a sense of finality about that he was not willing to explore until he had exhausted his other options.

It did get a laugh out of her, as expected, and that friendly glow was back in her expression. “He is a nice young man to share with you. You are free from my meddling for this year,” she said, and he detected just a hint of threat in it that he had better be around next year. He dropped his arms from their crossed position and relaxed incrementally. “Have a happy Dawning, Osiris.”

He doubted he would, all things considered, but he nodded at her anyway and faded back into the shadows.

\---

The next morning, there were two pleasant surprises waiting for Osiris at his usual place in the Bazaar. He’d expected to start seeing Dawning decorations, but the warm yellow brazier on the little platform he’d unofficially claimed did help ward off the cold. He took a few moments to gruffly thank Ikora, but she loftily claimed she had nothing to do with the placement of anything in specific. As it devolved into a discussion of deploying resources and the Vanguard’s continued concern with the use of Stasis in its Guardians, he got the second surprise - a runner from the Ramen kiosk came over with a plate of gyoza and left it with him.

Osiris blinked. “I hadn’t ordered anything.”

“No, sir,” said the breathless-looking attendant. “It was your friend, the Hunter. He prepaid for the whole month. One order a day.” Osiris scowled and the attendant bowed, looking unfazed. “He said it was a Dawning present.”

“Light save us from Hunters,” Osiris grumbled and waved the runner off, idly noting their cheeky grin. Ikora was smiling as well, so he offered her a dumpling after grabbing one for himself. She took it, regarding him thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything else regarding the matter.

“Now, about the debris from the orbital platform….”

\----

The wind howled outside the Hangar, but its design was such that only a few flakes of snow blew in and the candlelight near the Gray Pigeon barely flickered. Osiris and Saint-14 stood side-by-side looking up at the monitors tensely.

“This had better work,” Saint grumbled. “Are you sure there will be no cheating this time?”

Osiris, whose job was _not_ to monitor and balance Guardian-on-Guardian combat, rolled his eyes. “If I were certain, I would not be monitoring the match with you. I _do_ have other demands on my time.”

“Your eyes may catch what an algorithm does not,” Saint agreed. “With these _Stasis_ powers--” he said the word distastefully, as well he might of Guardians using the Darkness “--it is doubly important that the contest be fair.”

“Our enemies do not fight fairly,” Osiris pointed out, even though they’d had this discussion many times before. But since it was something they could argue without even really paying attention to it, it made an acceptable subject for conversation while their full attention was on the match.

“Being sure our Guardians _do_ is how we prevent, what did you call it? ‘Slippery slope of tyranny’?”

Osiris made a noise of acknowledgment, glad Saint had been paying attention during one of his rants after all. “You have always held that honor has value if we are to behave as a society. By rewarding such behavior, you are helping it propagate; I would not have suggested restarting the Trials if I did not concur.”

“Lord Shaxx is right. It is not the tool that determines what form the art will take, but the hands behind the tool.” Osiris flashed an amused look over at Saint, because the two Titans agreeing on something had probably been preceded by some fantastic fireworks.

“A chisel and a brush cannot work with the same medium, yet can both shape an object of beauty. Few are talented enough to effectively use both.” A Hunter on the screen tossed icy sickles toward the opposing team and Osiris shivered to see it. Saint squeezed his hand covertly and was silent for a moment.

“You believe, if you picked up a chisel now, it would destroy instead of create.” It was said without judgment, though Osiris detected the well of grief that lay underneath Saint’s words. Grief for Sagira, of course, and Osiris felt its mirroring stab in his own heart just to think of her name again, but also a grief for the loss of Osiris’s sharp confidence and ability to cut through their enemies like a beam of sunlight in darkness. He watched the map silently for a while, until the match was nearly over, and decided to abandon the metaphor entirely.

“You would kick me out of your house if I began using the Darkness, and then where would I stay?” Saint’s laughter startled the birds, and Osiris found himself relaxing as the match finished without any untoward incidents. The Trials of Osiris were back on.

\---

Later that night, they were both winding down in Saint’s living room. Osiris had just got out of a hot bath, finally feeling the chill leave his bones, and was finishing up annotations on one of his early works as a not-very-secret Dawning present for Saint. He had put on the ridiculous sweater Zavala had knitted for him, a monstrosity of black and gold peppered with bird patterns, and he had a cup of hot spiced tea and a plate full of Lavender Ribbons. Saint was sitting on the floor in front of him and leaning back, ostensibly polishing some mirror-bright piece of armor but, Osiris suspected, actually dozing.

“I would not kick you out of my home if you started to use the Darkness,” Saint said suddenly. “I trust you, Osiris.”

Osiris reached down to lay his hand against Saint’s cranium and got a fond nuzzle in reply. “The power the Darkness offers is a sword with no hilt to one who desires vengeance. Trust me to see myself clearly in this, if nothing else.” He had given it thought. How not? To have power flowing through him again, however fleeting, would give him the chance he wanted against Xivu Arath--

\--and lose him every degree of warmth he had been gifted with by the people who cared about him. He might approach the question again once they had at least defeated the High Celebrant, but Osiris was canny enough to know how easily that black fire consumed, ever-hungry and without end. With the proper tools, it could be coaxed into doing one’s bidding. Trying to handle the Darkness without the balance of the Light would be impetuous and foolish until he had at least regained enough emotional stability that he could see past ripping out the High Celebrant’s throat like some kind of rabid animal.

No, until he could cast his gaze over as much of the full picture as possible, the Darkness was a path Osiris was unwilling to take. If he were more fortunate than he had any right to be, he never would.

Sagira thought better of him than that.

“Would it trouble you if you never returned to battle?” That was Saint, following the lines of his own thoughts, perhaps. Osiris smiled, bittersweet, and traced the hard metal faceplates of the gentlest war machine he had ever known.

He could not claim to know himself and then lie to Saint in the next breath. “It would, in truth,” he confessed. “Do not place too great a stock in it. I am troubled by factors beyond count.”

That got a smile, at least, and Saint got up from the floor so he could sit beside Osiris on the couch instead, wrapping him in his arms. Osiris closed his eyes and exhaled. “Your mind flies to a hundred places still, my bird. Be here with me a little while.”

“I am,” he whispered, and that was also a truth.

He felt Saint shift underneath him, and after a moment he felt the smooth paper of a wrapped gift in his hand. Osiris opened his eyes to a grinning Exo. “Your gift will not be ready for a few hours,” Osiris complained, and Saint chuckled.

“I will open it tomorrow,” Saint promised. “I will pretend to be very surprised when you give me the book you are writing in.”

Osiris snorted and gave the package an experimental heft. “I will pretend to be very surprised you got me another book when you complain I have too many of them.”

“I did not say too many!” Saint protested. “I said ‘more than any reasonable person needs’. Is different.” He gestured for Osiris to open it.

As predicted, it was a book - a journal of the type Hunters tended to favor, weather-resistant and meant to be kept on one’s person all the time. Embossed on the cover were a beautiful phoenix and a graceful pigeon dancing in the air together. At Saint’s prompting, he opened it to the epigraph and caught his breath.

 _There are great things still left for you. Don’t lose hope in the darkness._

Sagira's last words to him. He remembered those words every day. Some days it brought a lump to his throat, or tears to prick at his eyes. Other days it was a hollowness or a sense of loneliness; those were often cured by hearing the noise of the City around him. Once or twice only, it had made him feel resolute in the face of his grief.

He _would_ find something to fill those pages with that would make her proud. Until then, it remained blank, like the future ahead of him.

Heat blossomed in his core, and he carefully wiped away the moisture at his eyes. “I will treasure it.”

Saint pressed his mouth to Osiris’s cheek in imitation of a kiss. “You are always my fiery bird, even if you do not feel like flying right now. Happy Dawning, Osiris.”

“Happy Dawning, Saint.”

**Author's Note:**

> Assuming Glimmer is approximately worth 100 to the US dollar, it is about 10,000 Glimmer to get Osiris an order of gyoza every day for a month. Totally worth it to make sure that man eats.


End file.
